To Twist You Right
by Minadalrive
Summary: Will is tired and drunk and Hannibal is especially witty. To learn any language in such circumstances is at the very least risky… and possibly dangerous. Topping with French, German and Slash bits!
1. Une leçon de mauvaises manières

**Note**: A little gift to MaiTai1327, because what better way is there to learn French?

**To Twist You Right**

**Chapter 1: Une leçon de mauvaises manières**

Hannibal had prepared an amazing dinner, like usual. Will hadn't known the name of half the savory bits he had put in his mouth, but he hadn't really care. Today had been a very long day…

Jack had woken him before five in the morning, telling him –ordering him, really– to drive one hundred and eighty kilometers in the dark to come interpret the latest serial killer's monstrosity north of Baltimore. Everything could have gone smooth after that call.

But then his car decided to have a flat. Will didn't panic, changed the tire and went on. He still could have grabbed a coffee at that point, to wake up a bit and chase the last burning slivers of nightmares.

And then there was none other than the deer. Will almost smashed into it and only managed to escape his own death because he had a vision of _his _deer right before that. Craziness could prove itself useful sometimes. But somehow that event didn't make him feel better.

But then, the only problem with his special "flavor" of craziness –an expression his official friend and not so official psychiatrist was very fond of– was the way his empathy could throw him on the floor in the middle of a crime scene –basically, in a pool of blood– and make him blank out. When he had regained consciousness, Beverly had told him he was very lucky.

Almost one minute without breathing, and he still had all his mental functions. All that was left, that is. But Hannibal seemed to think it was enough to bother with friendship.

Will had wanted to laugh at that. He certainly didn't feel whole. Well, his stomach felt full, at least.

He took the wine glass Hannibal held him.

"Thanks," he muttered, leaning back in the heavenly comfortable chair of Hannibal's living room –a gracious composition of greens and browns, with golden undertones. He felt relaxed here. Actually, he felt relaxed wherever he was, as long as Hannibal was around –except on a crime scene. He was always a mess on a crime scene, and today had proven him even more right than usual.

"_Tout le plaisir est pour moi._"

The foreign words, spoken with ease and beautifully flourish, distracted Will for a moment.

"What did you say?"

Hannibal sit down with his own glass of wine, inhaling the velvet liquid with such pleasure Will had to smile. Hannibal certainly was into hedonism –at least where food and wine were concerned.

"It means 'my pleasure'", Hannibal explained in a languid voice, leaning back, looking at Will, who was intent to finish his third glass of wine.

"Is it Italian?" Will mused.

"French."

"Oh."

Will couldn't understand Hannibal's gift with languages. For him, Italian, Spanish, French it was all the same thing. He could tell Lithuanian –Hannibal's mother tongue– apart from the rest, though, but that was the exception that confirmed the rule.

Hannibal didn't speak often in Lithuanian. However, when he did, it always carried on intense emotions, such as the time he talked about his beloved sister Mischa. All things considered, it might be the fact that Will made an extra effort to remember the words in those contexts that made him believe he could tell this language apart. He pondered over that hypothesis. Sighed.

"I don't understand shit when you don't speak-"

He stopped himself, considering his language. Hannibal just smiled.

"What's 'I don't understand' in French?'"

He had to be quite drunk already to even considerer learning this tongue-twisting madness that was French, he thought, imagining the whole word in capitals. Hannibal, however, obliged, probably enjoying Will's unusual interest for one of his numerous hobbies.

"_Je veux te sucer,_" he said, enunciating each syllable carefully.

Will raised his eyebrows. Those damning sounds, so sensual coming out of Hannibal's mouth…

_What?_

"What?"

Hannibal raised an amused eyebrow. "_Je. Veux. Te. Sucer_." he said again, slower this time.

Will shook his head. He should definitively not touch alcohol after such a day. It made him brainless.

"_Je. Veux. Te. Sucer_." The words sounded weird on his tongue, too sweet, sugar coated. Whatever his own opinion was on the subject, though, Hannibal seemed oddly satisfied with his performance.

"Very good," he approved, clasping his hands in something akin to delight. "_Je suis sûr que tu te sers très bien de ta langue._"

Will didn't even try to decipher, this time. "What did you say?"

"I said that you certainly know how to use your tongue."

When Will blushed, then chocked on his wine, less red than his face at that point, Hannibal raised an eyebrow at him.

"You have a twisted sense of humor, Doctor," Will gasped.

The other man let out a small laugh, as if he had just understood the ambiguity of his previous statement. The wine in his glass, in the dimmed light of the living room, looked suspiciously like blood. Will licked his lips, caught up in his nonsensical didn't notice Hannibal's heated gaze until it burned right through him.

"What?" he squealed_._

He knew something was different than usual, that Hannibal was not exactly the same, but with that much alcohol in his system –and some French to boost it–, he couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. Unease? That might have been too strong a word. Confusion, then?

"_Je veux te sucer,_ Hannibal," sighted Will, clearly at a loss.

"I know."

Hannibal looked at him very seriously. In days like today, Will could only feel grateful for the friendship of such understanding a man.

"Perhaps you already know that, but there isn't anything like practice to master an art."

Hannibal rose up gracefully from his chair and crossed the room to come stand near him, at touching distance. Will noticed Hannibal's still full first glass, but the words that just went through his red and inviting lips had already his curiosity busy.

_What?_

"What? You want me…" he coughed, the strong drink burning his lungs, "… to learn French, like in seriously learning French? You know I suck at languages."

"I believe myself to be an apt teacher," Hannibal retorted with a smile that could only be described as wicked. "Shall I show you?"

Will wasn't sure what to do when the other man dropped on his knees in front of him.

By the time Hannibal had his hands on his belt and his lips on his stomach, inhaling as much of him as he could, he knew what he couldn't do.

Stop him.

**Note**: Sooooo, for the still not translated tidbit: _Je veux te sucer _= I want to suck you. Yeah, my Hannibal is a dirty Hannibal, and I'm not sorry! Hope you liked. Tell me. Kiss!


	2. Schläuer und gefährlicher

**Note: **I still don't own anything, apart from my own "flavor" of craziness. Viel Spass!

**Chapter II: Schlauer und gefährlicher**

Will headed to the two-story house with a sigh. It was very cold today, but fortunately for him, someone well intentioned had let for him a warm –and probably expensive– coat hanging near the front door. He looked around, spotting Beverly and Jack, busy in what looked like a heated argument. Glad he wasn't at the receiving hand of their tempers this time, he walked into the house.

A house were people got killed always smelled different than a house with people still alive. No amount of cleaning products or length of time could change that. Will closed the front door behind him and once he was sure nobody was around, brought the collar of the coat to his nose, inhaling deeply.

The perfume of Hannibal. The taste of Hannibal, in all forms.

That night three months ago when he got drunk on wine, French and psychiatrist led to more nights of the same kind, only different in that he was less and less drunk –i.e. less and less shy– and more fluent in French every time. He kept a notebook with all the words Hannibal taught him, double-checking them on the computer when he was alone. He trusted the other man to protect him with his life, but where languages were concerned, Will would bite off his own tongue before saying anything to anyone in French without first making sure it was not some devious plot.

"Damn him."

He was blushing again, and the only consolation was that Hannibal couldn't see him and use it against him.

Use him… against the wall. Will paused on his way upstairs, brought back to the first time Hannibal had fucked him.

It had been good, so very good. And right. He hadn't questioned this turn in their relationship then and didn't see any need to do it now. He was happier than he ever was, and Hannibal, whose moods weren't exactly easy to tell, didn't look worse. Will still had to get a vocal reaction out of him during sex, but he was nothing if not persistent.

A shy Will was persistent. A confident Will was unstoppable.

He now had another [AN: trust your subconscious double-meanings, Will!] psychopath's mind to attend to.

**OoO**

"Thanks for the coat".

Hannibal smiled when Will joined him in the kitchen. He was hands deep into some kind of red and violet meaty pie, and Will didn't doubt one moment that he composed himself every single part of the dish-to-be. He might not have grown the cereals of the dough or killed the pork –or was it beef? duke?–, but that was it. Will heard his stomach grumble in anticipation.

"I see your hunger has awakened," Hannibal said, organizing the outer layers of meat to his liking. "_Tu as passé une bonne journée?"_

He spoke the French part slower. Will understood the two last words, and the interrogative tone did the rest.

"_Oui. Non_." He hesitated, looking for the words in this tongue-twisting language. "_Le mort, encore._"

"'Le_' mort, _Will? Death has the feminine gender in French," he chided.

"Whatever," Will mumbled. "What are you doing?"

"A _pâté de poumons humains à la coriandre_," Hannibal answered obligingly, putting the pie on a heat-resistant plate. "_La dame à qui ils ont appartenu était d'une impardonnable impolitesse._"

Will wanted to bang his head on the nearest wall. The only plausible reason why Hannibal and him could have any kind of serious relationship was because they were both crazy. There was also the physical attraction, thought Will looking at the other man's hands, about which he dreamt quite often, but right now, the only physical urges he had was to strike something –or a special someone. Hannibal knew Will found grammar and syntax challenging in any other language than English, and normally kept it nice and easy. However, there were times like now when he went in full bastard mode.

"Hannibal…"

"_Oui, mon cher?_"

Will ground his teeth.

"I don't feel like talking in French tonight."

His lover turned around and washed his hands.

"That is not a problem, Will."

There was a problem, though, and Will knew it. When Hannibal looked like that, not so poised, his lips curled upwards and maroon eyes festooned with black pearls of heat, he wasn't merely thinking about the content of the pie anymore.

Will felt himself grow hard. For every step Hannibal made in his direction, he took one back, ending up expectably against a wall. He would be a bad liar if he claimed he didn't like that.

"Now, now, Will, French is not to your liking tonight?"

Will stopped to breath, Hannibal's arms on either sides of his head. Somehow, he had the impression the word "French" was only a metaphor for something much serious, and that all letter were upper-case. Hannibal had something in mind, and Will could sense waves of aggressiveness coming off him in a way he was still not entirely familiar with. When Hannibal showed his teeth, a blink of sharpened white, he did what he always did in such circumstances.

He leaned his head back, exposing his neck. When the other man closed his mouth on his carotid, weariness and anger let place to a joyous quiescence.

To let go, to let everything go…

"_Ich vermute, du bist schlachtreif für etwas harter._"

French was erotic; this new language was downright madsening, especially right now, pinned against the wall by Hannibal's hands and mouth.

"What… What are you-"

"_Französisch konnte dich zu mir nicht so richtig festbinden, oder? Was würde dann geschehen, wenn ich dir meine heimlichste Sprache zeige? Du muss zu mir zuhören, mein kleiner William. Hörst du mir zu?_"

"Is that German?" Will looked bemused, confused, and he was painfully aroused. Hannibal's right hand snaked between their bodies and closed around his shaft.

"_Ja_, Will. _So ist es._"

Hannibal began to stroke him through his pants with an excruciating tenderness.

"You will listen to me, now Will."

"Ok."

He couldn't say anything else. Not when he was being touched like that, by these hands.

"_Du gehörst mir, _Will. _Niemandem anderen, sogar dir selbst._"

"Could the answer… ah!... be 'yes'?"

He was now naked from the waist down, and the feel of Hannibal was exquisite.

"_Kuss mich_."

Will didn't need a master's in Germanic Studies to understand that one. Pulling Hannibal's closer to him, he kissed him for all he was worth, tongue, lips and teeth. Hannibal responded in kind, drawing blood. He was always the first one to do so.

"Ha…"

Will moaned when he saw Hannibal go down on his knees. He couldn't look when he licked the tip of him, didn't dare if he wanted to last.

But he had too.

"Look at me, Will."

The moment his eyes took in the fabulous view of Hannibal's face so very near his rock-hard cock, still poised, still in control, his eyes veiled with raw hunger, he had to grab the nearest piece of furniture not to fall down. He might adore Hannibal with all his body, the though of going on _his _knees and take in his mouth what felt so deliriously palatable in his intimacy…

It would be like surrendering to everything, the known and the unknown, danger and more.

Hannibal looked like he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"_Du bist mein._"

All coherent designs shattered when Hannibal's red lips closed on him.

**Note**: I hope you had fun. I decided to write the sequel out of the blue, and here's the result. Any comment? Now for the German tidbits:

"_Schlauer und gefährlicher" _= "Smarter and more dangerous"

"_Ich vermute, du bist schlachtreif für etwas harter._" = "I would imagine that you are ready to be slaughtered/ripe for something harder." "_Reif_" means "ripe, mature", and the temptation to play with the double meaning was too much to pass by. Mwahaha.

"_Was würde dann geschehen, wenn ich dir meine heimlichste Sprache zeige?_" = "What would happen if I showed you my most private language [i.e. his cannibalism]?"

"_Du gehörst mir, niemandem anderen, sogar dir selbst." _= "You belong to me, to no one else, even yourself."

Back to the meal (mwahaha): "_Un pâté de poumons humains à la coriandre_. _La dame à qui ils ont appartenu était d'une impardonnable impolitesse._" = "A pie of human lungs with coriander. The lady to whom they belonged was unforgivably rude." Since Will doesn't understand that much French, Hannibal decided to have some fun. And psychopaths like to take risks (I'm currently reading a book on the subject, which is pretty interesting, by the way, and not only because the author mentions Hannibal AND Will in the first chapter). Tchüss, meine Lieblings!


End file.
